


Don't They?

by tzel



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzel/pseuds/tzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brittany remembers that look in Santana's eye.  Warning: sad fic is sad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't They?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Glee is owned by 20th Century Fox Television. No copyright infringement is intended.

      When Brittany is ten, her parents get her a pony for her birthday.  He is grey and speckled; and Brittany names him Sir Sparkles, because princesses ride on knightly horses and all knights have _sir_ in their name.  Brittany thinks Sir Sparkles is the best pony ever – and when they clear their first 3-foot fence in competition, she knows it.

      The following year, Brittany and her horse are in Vermont for the summer festival.  They go clean in the _power_ portion and move onto _speed._   But _speed_ is about speed and Brittany knows that they’ve made a mistake when she takes a corner too tight and come up short to the jump.  They don’t so much go over the jump as through it and Brittany is suddenly on the ground, clutching her arm in pain.  She looks over at her pony and sees that he is still on the ground, as well.

      The doctors tell her that she has a broken arm, but Brittany is focused only on the attending veterinarian.  A shake of the vet’s head tells her all she needs to know – her horse isn’t going to jump again. 

      “What happens to him now?” Brittany asks her parents.  They hesitate.

      “Well,” her mother eventually starts, “would you want someone whom you love to live in constant pain?”

      “No,” Brittany replies.  And she understands.

      When the cast comes off Brittany’s arm, she takes up motocross the very next week.

* * *

      Brittany freezes when she sees the slushie flying at Santana, as if the red mush had replaced the blood in her veins.  Behind the surprise on Santana’s face and the anger in her eyes, all Brittany sees is hurt.  Santana had always been the strong, confident one in their relationship, but for the first time, Brittany thinks that she looks small.

      The following day, someone empties another slushie over Santana’s head by her locker and Santana season is officially open.  Even thinking of Elmer Fudd’s antics doesn’t cheer Brittany up.  Two weeks later, when she finds Santana in the girl’s washroom curled up and crying, Brittany realizes that she’s seen this look before.

      “It’s not a fucking spectacle,” Santana says throatily, then leans against Brittany for support.

      It’s another two weeks before Santana approaches her about it.

* * *

      It’s the best sex Brittany and Santana ever have.  Afterwards, Santana props herself up against the pillows of her bed and closes her eyes.  Brittany is crying.

      “You promised, B,” Santana says.

      “I know,” Brittany replies through her tears.

      “I love you,” Santana says, and she relaxes further into the bedspread.

      Santana had given up everything for her – and Brittany knew, _she knew_ , that what she was about to do was somehow small in comparison, like a final punctuation mark at the end of a play.  She remembers how Santana told her about Shakespearean plays: _you see, it’s a comedy, because one person is alive at the end_.  She looks down at the bright, yellow duck pillow that is now in her hand, but she doesn’t remember having picked it up.

      When she fires through it, Brittany’s first thought is that guns are lot louder than on her television shows.  Her second is that Santana barely makes a whimper.  As the light blue bedding turns red and a few stray yellow feathers float in suddenly still air, Brittany leans down and whispers into Santana’s ear.

      “I love you, too.  I’ll see you soon.”

* * *

      Quinn is sadder than she expected to be when she hears the news and equally surprised when she finds a fluffy, yellow pillow stuffed into her mailbox. She is shocked when she yanks it out harder than she intends and a gun clatters onto the pavement of her driveway. A note flutters down next to it, and Quinn bends down to pick it up. She can barely make out the smudged, purple ink to read:

 _Sorry. She was your friend, too._

 _Brittany_

* * *

      Quinn finds Brittany sitting on the pier, with her legs dangling off the edge and the ghost of a smile on her face.  Brittany is conducting a silent song to an invisible orchestra with her fingers as she watches the sunset.  Quinn approaches, and Brittany turns her head over her shoulder and pats the wooden planks next to her, inviting Quinn to sit down.

      “This place reminds me of S,” Brittany says, “We used to watch the sun go down all the time.”

      “Britt,” Quinn says softly.  She pauses.  “The police are on their way; they’re coming to arrest you.”  Quinn sighs, then sits next to Brittany on the pier and looks out over the water.  The sun is setting faster now, just a big red circle leeching the last remaining blue out of the sky.

      “I know,” Brittany replies; she can hear the sirens in the distance now. “It’s okay.”

      “She was your best friend.  Why did you do this?” Quinn asks.

      Brittany shrugs, and then rests her head on Quinn’s shoulder.  Maybe she’ll understand, too.

 _“They shoot horses, don’t they?”_


End file.
